The next morning did not arrive with the gentle awakening one would expect in a high noble's mansion.
Instead, sunlight filtered through the gaps in the heavy curtains with almost aggressive clarity, illuminating dust motes floating in the stale air.
Reiko opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for several minutes, listening to the silence reigning in the private wing.
Bell shifted beside her, letting out a tired groan.
They exchanged a resigned look before deciding to abandon the safety of the sheets.
There was no turning back—duty called, and for Reiko, duty always came with a mental task list and a healthy dose of paranoia.
"Ready to see the disaster?" Bell asked, rubbing her eyes lazily while trying to tame her messy hair.
"No… but someone has to start putting things in order before the Marquise wakes up and decides she wants breakfast in the middle of this landfill," Reiko replied, standing and adjusting her clothes with near-military stiffness.
She opened the door with almost comical caution, as if expecting a horde of drunken guests to pounce on her.
What she found was far more static—and somehow more disturbing.
The moment they stepped into the hallway, both froze.
Right in front of their doorway, leaning against the veined marble wall, a woman was sleeping peacefully.
She was completely naked, not a single garment covering her pale skin, snoring loudly enough to defy the elegance of the golden ceiling moldings.
Her expression was one of absolute peace, utterly oblivious to the fact she was blocking a main corridor.
"Wow…" Bell murmured, averting her gaze with a mix of discomfort and amazement. "If this is the private resting area, I don't even want to imagine the rest of the mansion."
Reiko didn't reply, but her jaw tightened. Her organizer's mind was already processing the chaos.
They began walking through the mansion, descending the main stairs, and the scene unfolding before them was one of absolute decadence.
The main vestibule—once radiant—now looked like the aftermath of a battle fought with fluids and silk instead of steel.
Fine crystal goblets lay overturned everywhere, leaving dark, sticky stains on imported carpets.
Exotic fruits, expensive cheeses, and half-eaten sweets were scattered across carved wooden tables.
But the most striking sight was the bodies.
The orgy had reached such intensity that practically every square inch of the mansion had been used.
In the living room, under light streaming through large windows, several women slept piled together on fur rugs, tangled in deep slumber.
"It's… impressive," Bell whispered, tiptoeing so as not to step on an elf's hand near the cold fireplace.
"It's a logistical nightmare," Reiko corrected, her voice tinged with professional disgust. "Look at that—silk lingerie hanging from the crystal chandeliers. How did it even get up there?"
They continued toward the kitchen, hoping to find at least one corner of normality—but the scene was just as surreal.
Women slept on stone benches, some leaning against grain sacks in the pantry, others sprawled on tiled floors surrounded by empty wine bottles.
The smell was a dense mix of stale alcohol, expensive perfume, and the unmistakable scent of recent sex.
Reiko felt her patience thinning with every step.
Her instincts screamed to start barking orders, wake everyone with buckets of cold water, and scrub the marble until it shone again.
But she knew she couldn't.
These were Dahlia's guests—women of power or influence who had come to indulge under the Marquise's protection.
Yet as they moved toward the ballroom, stepping over naked bodies and party remnants, Reiko's old unease began to resurface amid the ruins of hedonism.
Talking with Bell had calmed her last night, but daylight brought the raw reality of her obsession.
Her eyes scanned every sleeping group intensely—hair colors, builds, marks on skin—searching for that vibrant orange hue unmistakable among all others.
Searching for the girl who, even amid this chaos, would probably look like she'd woken from a restful dream on a cloud.
Where is Mara? Reiko wondered, her heart pounding against her ribs. Did she spend the night in the main hall? Or retreat to one of the rooms?
She stopped at the ballroom's threshold, watching the sea of bodies beginning to stir under the first direct rays of sunlight.
The white noise of the previous night had been replaced by hangover groans and skin scraping against the floor.
I have to find her, she thought with determination, while Bell approached a table to salvage an uncontaminated jug of water.
I can't start cleaning this mess until I know exactly what's changed in her. I can't afford another month of uncertainty.
In the midst of that monument to excess, Reiko felt like the only sane person there…—or perhaps the only one crazy enough to worry about the fate of the world while walking across a floor covered in underwear and spilled wine.